


Breathe

by hannahindie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean x Reader, Death, F/M, Reader Insert, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, dean x reader smut, han writes the things, spn fanfic, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16912671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahindie/pseuds/hannahindie
Summary: The reader realizes that she may have made the wrong choice when the sickness she has been hiding gets worse. Both Sam and Dean seem to think something is up. What do you do when you make a life changing decision only to have everything turn upside down?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping.

****

**Now…**

I feel the cold porcelain under my hands and taste the warm blood, metallic and bitter on my lips. Tired eyes stare back at me from a dirty, cracked mirror, narrowed against the harsh, flickering halogen light that is bathing everything in a sickly yellow hue. Everything seems magnified tenfold, and I grip the smooth sink tighter and try to stay grounded. I watch my tongue dart out and trace along my ruby red lips, and the metallic taste gets even stronger. I drop my gaze and stare at the crimson splashes that have disrupted the pure white sink as if they will somehow give me the answers to my questions.

This isn’t a surprise. I guess as far as coughing up blood goes, it’s _surprising_ , but it was only a matter of time, and it’s looking like time is up. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I had… _have_ …a plan. It isn’t a great one, but that’s by design. The knocking on the door reminds me that even the best laid plans, the ones where you should be allowed to go out in a blaze of glory and leave nothing behind, can unravel in an instant. 

* * *

**One Year Earlier…**

I can’t breathe. Actually, it’s more of a ‘I’ve forgotten how to breathe’ situation rather than a ‘I physically can’t breathe because something is preventing it’, but still, I can’t breathe. I should probably be panicking, but as this was part of the reason I finally came into this office, it’s not as if it’s a shock.

Then again, I guess it doesn’t matter how much you prepare; being told that you have advanced lung cancer isn’t exactly an easy thing to digest.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” The voice repeats itself, and I look up from my hands.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know this is difficult news to process, but I need to ask you a few questions. You may have already been asked these, but since I’m the oncologist that will be taking over this case, I want to make sure everything I have is accurate.” I don’t trust myself enough to speak, so I just nod. “Do you smoke, or have you, smoked in the past?”

“No.” What a joke. It’s like getting blamed for something you didn’t do.

“Do you work in a field where you would be around asbestos, smoke, coal dust, other things of that nature?”

“Umm…no. My line of work takes me into some weird places, but I don’t spend that much time in them. It’s not really something I take into consideration most of the time.” It’s probably best I leave out all the times I’ve been down in a grave and inhaled burning bone dust…because surely _that_ would throw up a red flag.

The doctor nods, her eyebrows raised in question, but looks back down at her clipboard and makes a note. “We know from your x-rays that it is…very advanced. But we can also do a tissue sample, a biopsy, to better understand what type of lung cancer you have. With that information, we can figure out what the true prognosis is and what treatments will be an option.”

“Then how do you know that it’s cancer? We haven’t even done a biopsy, what if the x-rays are wrong?” Oh, that sounds desperate. I _am_ desperate. But come on, it’s a little early to just immediately go with lung cancer. Hasn’t this woman seen pneumonia?

She smiles sadly, “You’re right, without a biopsy I am not one hundred percent sure. But Ms. Y/LN, I gave those x-rays a careful look. I have considered all the possibilities, and we will do as many tests as we need to to make sure…but it _is_ cancer. The question now is what kind and just how bad it is.”

_Son of a bitch._

“Okay, umm…well, when do we need to do that?” The look she gives me is meant to be comforting. It’s not.

“Right now. We need find out what kind it is as quickly as possible so that we can confirm what treatment you need and get it started. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“Oh…well, that…that makes sense. Okay.” Outwardly, I sound calm. I’m actually impressed by how steady my voice is. Inside, everything feels like it’s been turned upside down and lit on fire, only there’s no window to jump out of, no magical escape hatch.

“Do you have anyone you’d like to call?”

“No. I’m…I’m on my own.” 

* * *

**Now…**

“Y/N!” A fist slams against the bathroom door, “Come on, I gotta go. What’d you do, fall in?” Oh, Dean, ever the one with words.

“I’m almost done! Jesus!” I rinse out the sink and give myself another look in the mirror. All appears well, aside from the dark circles under my eyes, which is just fine by me. I grab my bag off the counter and slam the door open, nearly catching Dean in the face with it.

“Hey, hey, hey, watch it!” He glares at me as he slides into the bathroom and shuts the door.

“Maybe don’t stand that close to the door,” I mumble as I drop down on the edge of the bed. God, I’m tired. At least this time, I can blame a hunt for my exhaustion. It’s getting harder to hide it, and the Winchesters are too smart for their own good. I can feel eyes on me and I sigh, “What, Sam?”

“Are you okay?” I can hear the lightly veiled concern; he’s trying to make it seem like a casual question, one we always ask each other after a hunt, but he knows. I don’t think he knows exactly what’s going on or else my ass would be in a hospital and not in the middle of Oregon in a run down motel, but he knows _something_ is going on. Bless him, though, he’s kept his mouth shut for this long and manages to wait until Dean is out of earshot before asking.

“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” My eyes shift to my bag and I debate taking another pill. With Sam watching my every move, I can’t risk it, which is a shame because it feels like my lungs are on fire. He opens his mouth to respond, but the bathroom door flies open and he goes back to looking at his laptop.

Dean looks between the two of us suspiciously, “What’s going on?”

Sam clears his throat and turns his laptop around, “Nothing, I was just telling Y/N I think I found another case.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “We just finished one! Can’t we just go to the bar, drink until we can’t see straight, and then pass out for like three days?”

Sam frowns, “We could do that and let this vengeful spirit kill everyone that goes into the hotel it’s currently terrorizing, or we could take care of it and then go home.”

“Fair enough. Well, let’s get this shit show on the road.” Dean walks over to his bed and bends down to retrieve his bag while Sam grabs his laptop and shoves it into his backpack. For a moment, I’m lost in the way Dean’s shirt pulls around his shoulders; it’s a rare summer day when all he’s wearing is a t-shirt and jeans, and I can see every muscle shift as he stands back up and hooks the bag strap over his shoulder. I don’t know if it’s because I’m dying and the little things are enough to keep me going, or the fact that I’m surrounded by beautiful Winchesters every day of my life, but I can’t stop staring at…. _him_. Sam’s beautiful, and if I’m being honest I find myself watching him when he runs his large hands through his shiny, chestnut hair, but Dean…every move he makes is distracting. It’s annoying. It’s even more annoying when he catches me.

“Would you like a picture?” I look up from where I was obviously staring at his ass, and his green eyes shimmer with mischief.

“What?”

“My ass. You’re staring at it.”

“Oh, no, that’s…sorry, I was just thinking.” I stand up faster than I should have, and the world tilts in a sickening swirl. I can feel my knees getting ready to buckle and I pray to whoever is out there listening that I don’t fall. A strong hand catches me and I send a silent thank you, although I’m sure Dean is going to have questions.

“You okay?” The mischief is gone from his eyes. I nod, unsure if my voice would give me away. He tilts his head and his free hand travels up to my face, “Are you wearing lipstick?” He gently drags his thumb across my bottom lip, and I can’t tell if it’s the cancer or his proximity that’s making it hard to breathe.

“No…just naturally this gorgeous. The good Lord blessed me with pretty solid lip genes.”

“Mmm…I guess he did.” He clears his throat and lets his hand drop, “We should get going, Sammy’s waiting.”

“Yea…” He turns and leaves the room, and I grab my bag, running the back of my hand across my lips. A bright red smudge mars the smooth skin, and I look up through the open door to see Dean glance down at his hand, then back at me.

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year earlier, the reader finds out exactly what's wrong with her. Present day, Sam tries to figure out what's going on between Dean and the reader, and Dean confronts her about their feelings.

**One Year Earlier…**

Growing up, I watched my parents hunt. Their parents were hunters, and their parents’ parents were hunters…it is just what my family does. Well, what it _did_. I don’t have a large family, and hunting doesn’t really promote a flourishing family tree.

I saw my parents die. I watched the larger than life werewolf tear them apart, I heard my father scream for me and watched as he threw his gun as close to me as he could get it before its yellowed teeth clamped down on his throat. I stared at my hands as they grabbed the gun, as if they belonged to another person while they wrapped around the cool metal and pearl handle and squeezed the trigger. I remember being carried from the woods and placed in the backseat of a stranger’s car, the fear that had wrapped around my heart turning into a numbness that lingered for years after the fact.

So the feeling that is coursing through me now in this too sterile room, the rubbing alcohol burning my nostrils, is familiar. It’s familiar and terrifying and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of; the fear itself, or the numbness that I know is coming. 

“You have what is called small cell lung cancer, or SCLC.” She pulls an x-ray from a manila envelope and places it on the display. I don’t know much about human anatomy, but I’m pretty sure my chest shouldn’t look like it does. “As you can see, you have a pretty significant tumor in your right lung, and it has grown into the space between your lungs and your heart. If you look here-” she points to two darker areas- “there are separate parts to the tumor, in two different lobes.”

I know she’s speaking English, and that so far she’s keeping it pretty simple, but I can’t help but look at her like she just babbled at me in Ancient Greek. “So…what…what does that mean?”

She turns off the light to the display and pulls a stool over next to me, “It means that, out of the four stages that you can possibly have, yours is a IIIB. Each stage has different features that qualify it…right now, yours meets all three features. It has also spread to the lymph nodes near the carina, which is where your windpipe splits into the left and right bronchi and in the space between your lungs.”

This sounds bad, and of course it’s bad, it’s _lung cancer_ , but I’m only thirty. How does this happen? I take a shaky breath in an attempt to steady my voice, “Is there any good news at all? Because right now it feels like you basically just handed me my death certificate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have much, and I’m sorry. The good part of all of this is that it’s in the limited stage, which means it’s only in the one lung and the lymph nodes affected are on the same side. It also hasn’t spread to any other organs. That is incredibly lucky, because only about one out of three people catch it this early.” Her small smile falters, and I brace myself for the other side of this shit sandwich. “However, the five year survival rate of small cell lung cancer compared to non-small cell…it’s drastically lower.”

“How much lower?”

“Ms. Y/LN, I need you to keep in mind that these survival rates are only an estimate, they can’t predict what will happen to any individual person-”

“ _How much lower?_ ”

“The five year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about eight percent. But we can treat it, we have options. They are limited, but they _are_ options, and there has been some success.”

The rest of the conversation is a blur. She hands me pamphlets and offers me a glass of water, displaying a kindness I’m sure she’s gotten down to a science in this line of work. I know what she’s saying is important, she’s listing medicines and writing scripts and explaining that we can get chemotherapy started right away, but I don’t hear it. There is talk of procedures that will make it easier to breathe, but right now it’s taking everything I have to force myself to keep going, to focus on the air coming in and going out. Her words are fading into the background as the same thought keeps screaming, drowning out everything else.

_I am dying._

* * *

**Now…**

Every so often, Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. They don’t linger; it’s almost as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the back of the car. He hasn’t mentioned what happened back at the hotel, and I’m hoping he forgets about it. However, as I watch his eyes flick up to the mirror again, I know he won’t.

I scoot up and lean on the back of the seat, “So, uh, Sam, what’s up with this ghost, anyway?”

I see Sam’s massive shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, “It’s pretty straight forward. The hotel actually used to be a mansion owned by a doctor, who was married with eight children. The doctor was well known and seemed to be liked by everyone in town, and honestly his life was pretty normal until his children started dying suddenly. Like clockwork, the children became horribly sick, in order from youngest to oldest, and within three weeks all eight of them had died. Rumor was that the wife had something to do with it, but at the time there was no way to prove it. Shortly after the last funeral, the doctor didn’t show up to open his practice, which was very unusual. His nurse called the police, and when they arrived, the front door was open. The doctor had been killed, and his wife was nowhere to be found. To this day, no one knows what prompted the deaths of the children, or why the doctor was killed. No one ever found her.”

I settle back into the seat and look out the window at the scenery passing in a blur, “That’s uplifting.”

“Well, you asked.”

I don’t answer, and the car falls silent aside from the rock music playing softly in the background. I quietly flip my bag open and shuffle through the books and papers, searching for the little box that so far has given me life. My fingertips rest on the Altoid can and I flip it open, grabbing a pill and a mint at the same time. Can’t be too careful when it comes to covering up my lies.

“Hey, can I get one of those mints?” Dean’s hand pops over the back of the seat and I lock eyes with him in the mirror. He’s testing me; like Sam, he’s catching on.

“Sure.” I drop one in his hand, popping the actual pill into my mouth as I smile and snap the tin closed. His eyes narrow for just a second, then his gaze drops back to the road.

I’m tired. My head drops back onto the cool leather seat and I let my eyes slip shut. My chest hurts, and it feels like someone is sitting on my sternum. I concentrate on breathing, careful to make it sound normal, like I’m not struggling to get enough air. I wonder how long this is going to drag on, how much more time I have.

The car begins to slow and I open my eyes as we pull into a gas station. Dean immediately goes for the gas pump so, before he has a chance to settle his sights back on me, I walk quickly into the convenience store.

“What’s going on?” I jump and nearly drop the bag of Combos I am contemplating, then glare at the guilty party.

“Jesus, Sam! Can you not? And what do you mean, ‘What’s going on’?”

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, “You and Dean have been weird. What happened before we left the motel?”

I roll my eyes as I make my way towards the drinks, “Nothing happened. And could you define weird? Because the only interaction we’ve had since we left the hotel was him asking me for a mint.”

“Exactly!” Sam gestures wildly, his voice still loud even though I can tell he’s trying to whisper. “You guys talk _all_ the time. Music, movies, food. You’re like the female version of Dean. You guys haven’t spoken the entire time. It’s weird.”

I grab a Coke, then turn to face Sam. He’s looking at me expectantly, and I sigh, “Nothing happened. I’m just tired, and I’m sure he’s tired, and that’s it. We left the room like ten seconds after you, there wasn’t _time_ for anything to happen. Cool your jets, would you? It’s fine.” I walk towards the counter, “They’ve got some organic snacks over by the chips, make sure you get some so you aren’t cranky later.”

I grab a couple other snacks as I make my way to the counter, pay, then walk outside and toss Dean one of my last-second purchases.

“Oooo, teriyaki lime jerky. Someone knows the way to my heart.” He pulls the nozzle from the tank and it clunks into place on the pump. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I shrug and lean against the car, “I am _truly_ a gift. You should probably appreciate me more.”

Suddenly, he’s directly in front of me, his moss green eyes burning into mine, and then his hand is on my waist. He’s close, so close I can smell the shampoo he used this morning and the faint mix of toothpaste and the motel coffee he called breakfast. “I would like very much to show that appreciation.” He smiles, and for a _second_ I am tempted. Oh, am I tempted.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

He tilts his head, and his eyes do that squinty thing he does when he’s thinking about what to say. What I want to do is reach up and smooth the worry wrinkle between his brows, trace the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but instead I hold my ground. Barely, but it’s held.

“No, _you_ talked about this…and I let it go, because I mean…you’re right. Our lives,” he scoffs, “our lives are fucked up. People like us die young and we die bloody. And if we are lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of sixty, we also live long enough to see everyone we love killed. And it sucks, _God_ , it sucks, but it is what it is. But I’m tired of that, alright? This-” he gestures between us- “ _this_ is worth it. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it since Omaha.”

 _Omaha_. Low blow, Winchester.

“Is this really the time to discuss this? As lovely as this gas pump is, this isn’t exactly a romantic way to bring it up.” He is still staring at me, his mouth set in a determined line, and for a moment I want to tell him to quit making that face, that his lips look better when he smiles because they’re full and pink and beautiful, but _that_ would not help this situation. Instead, I sigh, “Omaha was a mistake, Dean. It was fun, but…it was a mistake.” His hand drops from my waist and I would take all the cancer in the world if it meant I never had to see _that_ look on his face again. If I thought my chest hurt before, it is nothing compared to what it feels like now.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, the bottom one catching between his teeth as he stares at me. It looks like he’s going to argue with me, and there’s a little part of me that is begging him to fight for it, for _us_ , to convince me that my plan is garbage, but instead he walks away. He’s opening the driver’s side door by the time Sam gets to the car and looks at me quizzically.

“You okay?”

I clear my throat, “Oh, yea, I’m fine.” I climb into the backseat and settle in against the door. The car starts with an echoing roar, and he accelerates out of the lot faster than is necessary.

For the rest of the drive, his eyes never look up into the rearview mirror.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year earlier, the reader has to make a decision regarding her treatment. Present day, a simple hunt goes sideways, causing the reader's secret to come to light.

**One Year Earlier…**

“No.”

My mouth is forming the words before I even realize my brain has thought them.

“I’m sorry?” The doctor looks at me, her brows raised in surprise. I would laugh at how absurd she looks if the situation at hand wasn’t so serious.

“No…I don’t think I want any of those options.” My heart is racing; I’m basically telling this woman I want to die. But that’s not entirely true, is it? I don’t _want_ to die, but now that I’m presented with options, if I’m going to go, I want to go with some dignity.

“Y/N, there’s a chance-”

My laugh interrupts her and she frowns, her lips pressed thin as she stares at me. “I-I am so sorry,” I clear my throat as I try to calm down the hysterical laughter bubbling just below the surface, “but I just find that ridiculous. You already told me that the five year survival rate is eight percent.” I sigh, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I am very tired. I am a deep, soul crushing tired, and honestly I just want…I want to go out the way I want to go. Do you understand? My job is _hard_ and, honestly, I’m lucky I’ve made it as long as I have.” 

Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ of surprise, and I realize that’s the closest I’ve ever come to telling someone outside the life the truth about what I do.

“But at the end of the day, I love it. It’s everything I’ve ever known, and I get to help people, and that’s what this world is about, right? So if this is going to happen, if I’m going to die, I want to be able to do so knowing I have done everything I can before I’m gone.”

“I have to strongly advise against that.”

“I know,” I smile as I stand up from the cozy chair that I’m sure is there to be a small comfort when people are receiving bad news, “but it’s what I want. I understand the repercussions.”

She nods, then pulls a sheet from the pad in front of her and holds it out to me. I reach for it, and she holds it back slightly and raises an eyebrow, “I will give you this if you promise that you will at least get checked once a month. I understand that you aren’t going to accept treatment, but I expect you to be in this office once a month for the foreseeable future. In return, I will make sure you are kept comfortable, in a _responsible_ manner. Do we have an agreement?”

“Yea, doc, we’ve got a deal.”

She nods once, then lets the paper slip into my hand. I give her one more smile, then leave the office and head to the closest pharmacy. 

* * *

The bell above the door dings as I push my way into the building. Pharmacies always have this weird vibe to them; the overhead lights cast a yellowish glow on everything, and most likely one of them is buzzing, flickering slightly as it tries to decide if it’s time to quit. The music playing quietly in the background at this particular one is some cheesy Muzak that would make any hotel elevator jealous. I hand the pharmacist my script then sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs lined up in front of the window. He looks at me, looks at the wrinkled piece of paper, then back at me. I smile, and he gives me a sad look in return. I know what that looks means. _Dead girl walking._

“Not too reassuring when your pharmacist looks at you like that, is it?” I look over to see an older man, at least in his eighties, sitting several seats down, one leg crossed over the opposite knee and a cane balanced against his arm rest.

“No, not really.”

“What are you in for?”

I’m usually not much for small talk, but the glint in this man’s eye has me intrigued.

“Lung cancer. You?”

“You name it, I got it, though I do believe you got me beat on that one, sweetheart. Today it’s my sugar, but I’m sure tomorrow will find something else. Then again, I like to believe that I didn’t fight the Nazis and survive for something like that to take me out.”

“I like the way you think, sir.”

“Sir’s my daddy, you can call me Frank, Frankie if you’re feeling cheeky.”

I wink, “I’m always feeling cheeky, Frankie.”

He grins, “Oh, to have met you in my heyday. We woulda had a ball.”

I cock an eyebrow, “Who says we can’t now? As long as you don’t mind my broken lungs, I think we could have some fun adventures.”

He holds up his hand and wiggles his ring finger, “I don’t think my wife would approve. She’s cheeky, too.”

We fall silent and I wonder what his wife is like.

“I’m sorry about your lungs, sweetheart.”

I shrug, “In my line of work, it’s just a matter of time. It’s a little…less violent than I assumed it would be, so that’s nice.”

Frankie frowns, and again I realize I’ve let something slip. “What kinda job do you do?”

“I hunt monsters.”

“I understand that. Someone’s gotta do it, huh?”

I know we are talking about two different kinds of monsters, but the sentiment is still there.

“Mr. Duvall?”

He stands slowly, then leans on his cane for a moment to balance himself. “That’s me,” he says as he gives me one last look. “You take care of yourself.”

“You too.” He shuffles to the counter and gets his medicine, then disappears around the corner. The pharmacy falls silent again, except for the occasional pop of that one, slowly dying light. 

* * *

**Now…**

Simple hunt my dying ass.

Sam should have been right. All his research pointed to the ghost of the husband being the culprit, stuck in a loop in an attempt to save his children.

God, I wish that was true.

Instead, it’s the _entire_ family, including the murderous bitch that killed the rest of them. She is not having our interruption, and I suddenly find myself trapped in an upstairs room, my only defense the iron poker I had grabbed as I ran past the fireplace and up the stairs.

I look around for another way out, but there’s no use. This room opens into a nursery, but there’s no doors in that room and all of the windows are nailed shut. I’m gasping for air; the run from one side of the house to the other then up the stairs was too much. I cough into my hand and can tell before I even look that there’s more blood.

_Dammit._

I hear a thud from downstairs and a muffled _sonuvabitch_ , then the loud bang of a shotgun going off.

“Come on, this is ridiculous!” I wiggle the doorknob, knowing it’s pointless. On a good day, I _might_ be able to kick it open, but as it is, I’m having trouble standing. Kicking doesn’t really seem like an option right now. Suddenly, the air is frigid, and I can see pathetic little breath clouds trying to form in front of me. I turn slowly to see the wife slowly appear, flickering in and out of existence like some kind of video cassette from the eighties.

“You are a raging bitch, you know that? Sam is going to find your bones and he’s going to _burn your ass_. You won’t be hurting anyone else.”

It’s then I realize that there’s one way to get that door open. It’s not a good plan, but I have to try something. “Come on, get me! I’m not moving!” I hold my arms out and drop my poker. “Look! All yours! C’mon, bitch!” Suddenly, she throws her arm out towards me and I’m airborne. I close my eyes and brace for the impact, but nothing could have prepared me for how much it was going to hurt. I hit the door and it yields with a sickening crack. For a second, I’m honestly not sure if it is the door or my spine that’s making the sound, but there’s not much time to think about it as I finish my descent and slam into the floor. It feels like my entire body is curled around something the wrong way, and I lay there and try to force the air in and out.

It feels like I’m drowning on land, like the air I’m trying to desperately suck in is going to be the very thing that kills me. “Dean…” I can barely speak, but I manage to roll over to my hands and knees. “Holy shit….bad…idea…” Good news, the cracking sound is the door, _not_ my spine. The bad news, there’s blood dripping from my mouth and I know I didn’t get hit in the face. I spit and grimace at the amount of red on the floor. _Not good_.

“Dean!” A little louder this time, and I hear footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. I manage to get to my feet in time to see Mama Murder appear, less flicker and more violent than before. _Great._

“Duck!”

I turn to see Dean pointing a shotgun at me and drop to my knees with a groan; it’s a shame, considering I’d just managed to stand up. While he’s preoccupied, I swipe my palm swiftly across my mouth and wipe away the evidence. No need for him to see _that_. The blast makes my ears ring, but the ghost is gone for the moment, so I slump against the wall and let my chin hit my chest.

“Thanks,” I force out, biting back the scream of pain that I want to let loose. I can feel the bruise forming on my back and it feels like my lungs are on fire. Breathing is like swallowing glass shards, and I’m worried that I may have broken a rib, which just adds insult to injury, honestly.

“What the hell happened?” he asks as he kneels next to me, taking a moment to look at the now destroyed door.

I give him a weak shrug and look up at him, my attempt at the usual smartass smirk failing as blood drips from my lip. “Well, I had to get the door open somehow.”

“Are you okay?”

His eyes are on my mouth, and now would be the time to tell him that I am not, in fact, _okay,_ but instead I spit, then wipe my hand across my lips again, “I’m fine. She got me pretty good, I must have bitten my lip when I hit the door. No big. Help a girl up, would ya?”

He stands, offering his hand, and I grab it. It’s warm in mine, rough and gentle at the same time, and for a second my mind flashes back to another time with those hands…which is not helpful now. I gather myself as well as I can and stand with a groan. “I am getting too old for this shit.”

“You and me both.” He stares at me, his eyes traveling from my face down to my toes and back up, narrowing as he realizes how carefully I’m holding myself. “Seriously, are you okay?”

I straighten up, ignoring the way my entire body is protesting the movement, and let go of Dean’s hand. “I’m fine. Let’s just gank this bitch and get out of here. Where’s Sam?”

“I don’t know. I heard him yell something about burning bones, I guess he figured out where she is. I haven’t seen him.”

“Well, let’s go downstairs, there’s nothing up here-”

I’m cut off by what feels like a hand around my throat and then suddenly I’m airborne again. Only this time, there’s no door to slow my fall, or a wall to crash into. I hit the floor, and before I can scramble to catch myself gravity betrays me and I literally bounce down the stairs. I always thought it looked ridiculous when people on television fell down the stairs, and I have a few seconds to contemplate how stupid I must look until the wall at the bottom abruptly stops me. For the second time in five minutes, the air is knocked out of me. This time, my vision starts to go black around the edges and spots start dancing in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on getting my lungs to cooperate. _In. Out. In. Out._ Dean shouts and suddenly his shotgun slides down the stairs and lands at my feet. I look up to see him held against the wall, and I gauge the distance between us.

It’s too far.

The shotgun’s range with normal ammunition wouldn’t be enough, but this is rock salt. I’ll have to get closer, and it suddenly occurs to me that if I don’t move the lie I have been telling could get Dean killed. I grab the gun and crawl to the steps and begin dragging myself up, the shotgun in one hand while the other hand grips the worn wood. He’s looking at me, his eyes rolling as he tries to catch his breath, and I pump the shotgun one-handed, another television trope I wasn’t sure actually ever happened. I manage to climb half of the stairs and stand up shakily, leaning back against the banister as I aim the shotgun.

“Let him go, you _bitch_ ,” I snarl, then shoot. She disappears with a high pitched screech, and I collapse on the steps and let the gun fall from my hand. When I look up, Dean’s on his knees, his chest heaving as he stares at me. “When I said to go downstairs, that’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

Dean shakes his head and laughs, “I was gonna say, that was a dramatic exit.”

“Well, I have to keep it interesting.” A crash comes from above us, and we both look up.

“Did you know that this place has an attic?”

I shake my head, “No, but I guess I do now.”

Sam shouts, and before Dean can run to the source of the sound, we hear a muffled _found you_ and then feet hurrying across the floor above.

Sam pops out of one of the rooms, “We need to go.”

“Why? What did you do?” Dean asks as he gives me his hand again and I stand up gingerly. At least this time Dean isn’t going question it; I did just get thrown down the stairs.

“The better question is where the hell did you even come from?” I grimace as we start down the stairs and Dean’s brows furrow as he tightens his grip around my waist.

Sam grabs the shotgun and takes off for the front door, “Let’s talk about this outside. Actually, better yet, let’s talk about it in the car, as we’re leaving.”

We stumble outside and I turn back just in time to see the second story burst into flames. “Someone’s got some explainin’ to do.” I look back at Sam and he shrugs, and the puppy dog look on his face is nearly too much to deal with. “Was that absolutely necessary?”

Sam tosses Dean his keys, “Well, from the sounds of how hard she was kicking your asses, yes, it was necessary.”

Dean rolls his eyes and lets his arm slip from where it was resting around my waist. I’m sad, both because it was comfortable and because I can feel my body start to give up as my adrenaline begins to wear off.

“She wasn’t kicking our asses, we had it handled.”

“Right,” Sam scoffs, “if you consider Y/N getting thrown down the stairs and you getting choked out ‘having it handled’.” He air quotes that list bit, throwing a bitch face to beat all bitch faces at Dean.

“How would you even know? You didn’t see what was going on. And how did you even get up there anyway?”

“Guys…” Everything is getting blurry, and I can’t catch my breath. I reach out for Dean but my fingertips barely brush his arm; my depth perception is pretty much gone.

“Well, if you’d even tried to look around, you would have seen there was a back staircase, and a hidden entrance in one of the closets.” Sam crosses his arms and, even with blurry vision, I can tell that he’s gloating. They’re picking a fine time to act like normal brothers.

“Dean.” It’s all I can get out before wracking coughs take over. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t speak. I can taste it, the bitter metallic taste of my body working against me, tearing me apart from the inside out. I’m choking on blood, and the thought of dying throws me into a panic. I’m not ready; I just found the thing worth fighting for, even if I’m in denial about it. I have family again, a life, and I regret the decision I made to give it all up.

“Y/N!”

I fall to my knees, and I feel someone next to me, a familiar warmth, and I fold myself into it. Dean’s looking down at me, his eyes full of fear, and it’s the only thing I can focus on.

“C’mon, hang in there. Sammy, help me get her in the car.”

“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance-”

My gasp for air and another coughing fit interrupts him, and he looks at me in horror when he sees how much blood is on my face. I may not be able to see well, but I can tell. This is bad.

“We don’t have time to wait. Come on.” Dean lifts me up and Sam rushes to open the back door. He carefully slides me onto the bench seat, and before he can move I find a little strength to grab his arm.

“Please…don't…” It’s all I can say. It’s Dean, though, and he understands. He’s understood me since we were ten years old.

“Okay, I’m here, I gotcha.” He crawls in next to me and holds me across his lap, my head against his shoulder. Each gargling breath I take has him holding me tighter, and my heart aches. I shouldn’t have done this to him. He holds the keys out to Sam, “Drive, fast.”

The last thing I feel as my eyes slip shut is Dean’s lips as he brushes them against my cheek. “Everything will be fine,” he whispers.

_Everything will be fine._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months earlier, the reader runs into an old friend at the bar. Present day, the reader gets bad news, and Dean finds out the truth.

**6 months earlier…**

This bar is perfect. It’s in the middle of nowhere, it’s cheap, and so far not one person has tried to get my number or buy me a drink.

“Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?”

_Never mind._

I take a deep breath then spin around to face the jackass that’s ruining my perfect bar experience, “What makes you think-”

“Y/N?”

I should have recognized his voice, but I definitely recognize the green eyes sparkling in the dim light, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he realizes who he just tried to hit on.

“Dean?”

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” He looks like he’s trying to decide if he should do something, like give me a hug or a hearty pat on the arm, but ends up just jamming his hands into his pockets. I give him an awkward smile.

“Working a case, what about you?” I turn back to the bar and he slides onto the stool next to me.

“We just finished one, heard there might be something over this way so we figured we’d check it out before we went home.” He waves down the bartender and orders two more beers.

“I’m not even sure it is a case. Haven’t been able to find much, I’m starting to think it’s a thing for the locals to handle. I figure I’ll do some more research in the morning, head out of it’s nothing.” I take a swig from my beer as he waves the bartender down. “We? Sam is here too?”

“Yea, he said he wanted to research and the bar would be too loud. The campus library is open late, so he’s camping out there for the night.”

We fall silent, and I wish it didn’t feel so awkward. There didn’t used to be this… _space_. Now it feels like we are on two totally different tracks, speeding along next to each other but never actually crossing paths. Not even when we are sitting mere inches apart. I won’t lie; the feeling sucks. 

“It’s been awhile. Why haven’t you called?” I look over and he’s fiddling with the label on his beer, pulling it off the bottle in tiny pieces like he’s always done when he’s nervous.

I shrug, “It’s been busy. Phones work two ways, you know.” I’ll just leave out the whole ‘cancer takes a lot of out of you’ part, and the bit where I shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with my pain medicine.

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything…about Bobby, about what…what I said.” His voice is quiet, but the apology packs a punch. Dean isn’t usually one to apologize, at least not easily.

“You weren’t the only one that said shitty things, Dean. It’s not like I offered you a fresh glass of sweet tea and invited you to sit on the porch with me so we could talk about our feelings.”

He chuckles and I finish my beer, sliding it down the bar as I grab the one Dean just bought for me. “I guess that’s true.” He sighs, “What happened to us? We were…we were _good_ , weren’t we? You, me, and Sammy…we were the best.”

I glance over and really look at him for the first time since he’s sat down. He looks tired, his face more haunted than it was the last time I saw him. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and, considering he’s a Winchester, that’s probably not too far from the truth. He’s still handsome though; age has been kind to him. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I like it, other than it hides how strong his jawline is.

“You still are.”

He smiles sadly and shakes his head, “If you knew…I’m not the best, not anymore.”

Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm and he looks up at me, “ _Life_ happened to us, Dean. And it’s not like one of the monsters that we can hunt down and destroy. Life sneaks up and picks and pulls you apart, and every once in awhile it gives you a little glimmer of hope, of what _could_ be. If you’re lucky, the glimmer turns into something more, but for people like us…that’s all it is. A hope of what could be, not what’s going to happen. We save people, but we don’t save ourselves.”

I stare at my hand on his arm and remember what we used to be like; best friends, inseparable as soon as John put me in the backseat of the Impala. It wasn’t fair of me to blame him for Bobby’s death, but I had been angry and hurt. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one that lost their father that day, not until it was too late, anyway. “You are a good man who has given up _everything_ so that others don’t have to. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to understand that before.”

Dean softly places his hand on top of mine and squeezes, “You’ve given up a lot, too.” He clears his throat and straightens up on the barstool, his hand moving from mine to his beer. “I think we need something a little stronger than beer. Still a whiskey girl?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” I respond with a smile, grateful that the familiar comfort I used to feel with Dean seems to have returned.

* * *

“D-do you remember that time we stole Bobby’s truck and went into town, I don’t even remember what we were lookin’ for, but we left and didn’t tell him?” I stumble slightly, and Dean catches my arm.

“How can you not remember what we were lookin’ for? _You_ decided you wanted to go see Titanic, and you talked my stupid ass into it!”

I snort, “Pshtttt, you know you wanted to see some Kate Winslet boobies, don’t even pretend.”

“I had to pretend to be your brother so you could get in! Lemme just add that as much as I may have wanted to see Kate Winslet boobs, I by no means wanted to see them with you sitting next to me.”

“Listen, you loved that movie. I saw you cry.”

“Tha’s…tha’s bullshit. I don’t cry over chick flicks, ‘specially not when I’m with someone else in a public theater.” He gives his head an emphatic shake, as if that’s going to drive his point home.

“HA!” I stop and poke him in the chest, “You said ‘especially’, which means you’re not above doin’ it alone. Dean Winchester has _feelings_.”

“Oh, I had feelings, just wasn’t ‘bout the movie.”

“See! You have feelings, you just ad..mitt….wait, what?” My finger is still on his chest, and he smirks down at me.

“Y’heard me.” His eyes are sparkling, and the mischievous look he used to have when we were young is back. It makes him look like a kid again, and it’s enough to make me ignore how badly this could end. I forget that my decision has made this an impossibility, and I shift my hand so that it lays flat against his chest. He’s warm, God, he’s so warm and I can feel his heart beating against my palm.

“You _had_ feelings?”

His hands land on my waist and he pulls me flush against him. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his proximity, but my face feels hot as I stare up at him. “I never said they stopped.”

“Oh,” I breathe out, his words fuzzy and sharp at the same time. “I…d’ya want…I mean, my hotel room is jus’-” I don’t get a chance to finish my question because his lips are on mine and it’s like my entire brain short circuits. I would be lying if I said I never wanted to find out what this felt like. I assume any woman that looks at Dean wonders what it would be like.

I can promise you, there are no words to describe how it feels.

I can try. I can tell you that his lips are soft, softer than I could have ever imagined. He smells like gun oil and leather, with a hint of whiskey from our time at the bar. It reminds me of home, of riding in the backs of cars and learning how to fight, and how to care for people. He’s warm, even through all his layers it’s radiating from him like a heater, and I can’t help but let my hands roam across his chest and down to the small of his back.

He pulls back and laughs softly and I take a moment to catch my breath. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think this can continue in public.” He shifts, and I am made aware as to _why_ we should probably vacate the busy sidewalk.

“Come on, I think I can remedy that.” I grab his hand and start walking down the street again.

“Where are we going?”

“My hotel room, duh.” He laughs, and it’s like music to my ears. For the first time in a long time, everything feels… _normal_.

I’m not dying. We aren’t fighting monsters and evil, and we aren’t saving the world. We’re drunk, and we’re letting ourselves feel what normal people get to feel. It might just be a beautiful lie that we’re telling ourselves for this one night, but I don’t care. Because for once…for once it can just be _us_ , and I don’t have to remember that it’s going to be short lived.

We stop in front of my motel room and I drunkenly dig through my pocket, but it’s made difficult by Dean grabbing me by the waist and pressing me against the wall next to the door.

“Dean, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I can’t…mmmm…I can’t get to my key.” His teeth graze my throat, right at my pulse, and I nearly melt. I can feel him smiling against me and I smack his arm. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Oh, I know.” He pulls back and lets me finally pull the key free, watching in amusement as I fumble it into the lock. “Know what else I know?”

I look back at him as the door swings open, “What?”

“I’m damn lucky we decided to stop in Omaha.” He picks me up and carries me into the room, slamming the door shut behind us with his foot.

_He isn’t the only lucky one._

* * *

**Now…**

It’s the beeping that gets me, the incessant dinging of machines, whirring sounds and footsteps, and the never ending barrage of announcements over the intercom system that finally pulls me out of what feels like a coma. Then the smell takes over; a suffocating cloud of cleaners and sanitizers that I only ever encounter in hospitals.

My eyes slowly open to see a blurry form sitting in the chair next to me, chin against his chest as he breathes slowly in and out, the cadence making it obvious he’s asleep. Sunlight is creeping through the long, vertical blinds, and the television is turned to some daytime talk show rerun.

“Oh, you’re awake!” I roll my head towards the door and see a smiling nurse walk through it and watch as she checks whatever machines I’m hooked to. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“Sorry…” I don’t know what else to say.

“Aww, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’m just glad to see you’re awake. I think he will be, too. He’s refused to leave this entire time. Not even the threat of a security escort seemed to phase him.”

I look back over at Dean, who’s shifted enough so that his head is tilted against the back of the chair, his mouth hanging open. “That sounds about right.” I struggle to sit up more, and she hurries over.

“Here, let me give you a hand. I’m going to call your doctor, she said she needs to have a little chat with you.” Her face falls slightly as she smooths out the blanket, then she clears her throat and suddenly the smile is back, “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait…”

She turns to look at me, “Yes?”

“How long have I been out?”

Her smile disappears again and a crease appears between her brows, “Four days.” She disappears around the corner quickly as if she wants to avoid any other questions and I sigh. _Four days._

I grab for the remote, but for a second it’s like my hands forget how to do their job, like my brain isn’t connected to them, so I juggle it for a second before it slips out of my hand and hits the floor with a crash. Dean jerks upright in his chair.

“What?! What the hell?” It takes a minute for his brain to register where he is and what made the noise, and I watch his eyes come into focus as he stares at me. “You’re awake.”

“Yea…” I can feel tubing pressing against my nose and I reach up to pull it off. Dean leans over and puts his hand over mine, gently pushing my hand down to the bed.

“Leave it, they just got you stable enough to use that instead of a mask.” He leans back and watches me, but stays quiet. He looks like he’s thinking about what to say; I know he has a lot of questions, and I’m afraid of what he’ll ask first. I also wonder what he already knows, and how he’s managed to get in here and stay for such an extended amount of time.

“How’d you manage to not get kicked out?”

“Told ‘em we were married, that we were on our honeymoon.”

I would laugh, but I know it’s going to hurt. Judging by the look on his face, it probably isn’t wise anyway. “What about Sam?”

“Told ‘em he lives nearby and that we were visiting him. He’s getting coffee right now.” He crosses his arms, “It was a little harder to explain all the bruises, and why you were pumped full of painkillers _before_ you got here. And the massive amount of blood you were coughing up, see that was the hardest one, because they just assume a husband would know his wife’s medical history.”

“Well, we aren’t _actually_ married-”

“Nope, I’m gonna stop you right there.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and the look of betrayal on his face makes it incredibly hard to look him in the eye. “We are _family_ , Y/N. I get that maybe I want more than that, and that you aren’t ready for it. That’s fine, but you are still my family. We are supposed to take care of each other. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, and you lying about this…it could have gotten any of us killed. You realize this, right? I should have realized at the hotel something was wrong…I should know the difference between lipstick and blood.”

“Dean…”

“Listen, I’m not…I’m not angry. I feel like I should be, but I’m not. I just want to understand why you didn’t think you could trust me with this. Why did you not let us help you?”

“It’s difficult to explain-”

“Hello, Y/N.” I recognize the voice before I even turn to face whoever interrupted me.

“Hey, doc.”

She walks around to the end of the bed, clipboard in hand, and glances over at Dean, “This is your husband?” I swallow nervously; she knows I’m not married. It’s not been that long since I’ve seen her. The look in her eyes is a soft accusation, but when I nod in confirmation, she gives him a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you.” She looks down at the chart and when she looks back up, I can see it on her face. “I think you probably know what I’m going to tell you, but I’m guessing he’d like to know what’s going on, and I think _you_ need to know exactly how bad this is.”

That’s the one thing about her that I like; she’s straightforward, no bullshit. She somehow knows that Dean has no idea what’s going on, and I’m simultaneously impressed and terrified. He was never supposed to know about this. I was going to go out hunter style, a blaze of bloody glory. I was alone. Why didn’t I just stay alone?

“Your cancer has spread. It’s no longer just in one lung and the lymph nodes on that side, it’s in both, which is why you began to cough up so much blood. Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. Your body is exhausted, and it’s starting to give up. Without treatment…” she trails off and looks at Dean, who looks like he’s about to be sick. “Even with treatment, it will simply be done to keep you comfortable, though it may prolong your life slightly. Without treatment, your time is very limited. I’m…I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not _okay_ , but…I chose this. I knew what was going to happen.”

She nods, then gently pats my blanketed leg, “I’m going to go, give you some time to decide.” She looks at Dean one last time, then walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I drop my head back against the pillows and close my eyes. _Shit._

“Cancer?” His voice is quiet, but rough with held back tears. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter; I can’t look at him.

“Dean, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Omaha…I didn’t…”

“What are you going to do?” I look at him sharply, but he’s looking down at his hands instead of me.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up, and his eyes are even brighter from the tears he’s fighting against. It hurts more than anything else he could even say. “Are you going to do treatment, or no?”

I swallow thickly, knowing he’s not going to like the answer. _I_ don’t like the answer, but it’s for the best. “I’m tired, Dean. I’m tired and broken, and I can’t drag this out longer. I just can’t. I don’t want to waste away in some bed somewhere, knowing that I’m just putting off the inevitable. I want to go home…I want to spend time with you and Sam, I want to save as many people as I can before it’s over. I just…I wanna go home.”

He blinks, then rubs a palm roughly against his eyes as he stands up, “Okay, well, let’s bust you out of here then. I’m gonna go talk to the nurse. I’ll…I’ll be back to get you. If Sammy comes back while I’m gone, let him know where I went.” He walks out of the room without another word.

I lay back and close my eyes, and I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

_This isn’t how it’s supposed to be._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months earlier, the reader wakes up and she's not alone. Before they leave, she gives Dean an ultimatum, one she knows is mostly like a bad idea. Present day, Dean finds the reader in her room, and they find themselves in a familiar situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has smut, so if you're not into that kind of thing, avert your eyes.

**6 months earlier…**

My eyes feel like they’re glued shut, and I press my face further into the pillow, wishing for a quick end just to make this headache go away. _What the hell did I do?_ I stretch out, and instead of my hand hitting empty space in the bed next to me, it smacks harshly against bare skin.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Dean’s deep voice rumbles from beside me and I groan. _That’s_ what I did.

“Wake up.” I roll over and throw my arm over my eyes, blocking out the blinding devil light coming through the cracked blinds.

“I _am_ awake, you just smacked me in the face.” I can feel him shifting, and suddenly his arm is draped over my waist. “Mornin’, by the way.”

“Good morning.” I know I should move, I need to remove myself from this situation and travel in the opposite direction as fast as I can, but the warmth from his arm is lulling me back to sleep. 

I can feel his lips skimming along my neck and down towards my collarbone, and again, my brain is screaming to stop this, it isn’t going to end the way either of us want it to. My body has other ideas as it rolls over to face him and I finally open my eyes. His eyes lock with mine and he smiles, “That took long enough to happen, huh?”

I laugh, “Yea, I guess so.” I trace my thumb along his jaw and sigh, “Dean, listen-” The door flies open and I yelp in surprise.

“Morning! Y/N, where have you-oh…oh God.” Sam turns away, and I realize that I’m not wearing any clothes. All the blankets have been pushed off the bed, which means Dean and I are showing off everything the good Lord blessed us with.

“Sam!” I roll off the bed and hit the floor with a grunt, grabbing my scattered clothes as I make a beeline for the bathroom. “How did you know…what… Nice to see you, just uh…hold on just a second.” I stumble into the bathroom and slam the door shut.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Sam’s forced whispers carry through the closed door, and I stop what I’m doing so that I can listen. “Put some pants on!”

“What?” I can hear the rustle of denim and the soft clink of his belt as I imagine him pulling on his jeans, a shit eating grin on his face.

“You know what! We _just_ found her again, and you immediately sleep with her? C’mon, man.”

“Listen, I was just as surprised as you were when she was in that bar. But you know how long I’ve…you _know_. I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“I’m more surprised about _her_ letting it happen, not _you_ wanting to do it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean’s voice has lost the joking tone. I can almost feel Sam’s exasperation.

“Dean, you two have been doing this dance for years. I didn’t mean she doesn’t feel the same way, even Cas knows something is up, but…is now really the time?”

Dean’s voice moves away from the bathroom door, “When is the fucking time, Sam? Huh? Because I don’t really see our lives getting any better. It’s been shit and it’ll keep being shit, so why not have something that gives me one fucking iota of happiness? I guess me showing anything other than mild contempt or being a smartass is out of character.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Now would probably be a good time to interrupt. I yank my shirt over my head and throw the door open, “Okay, now that it’s less awkward,” I walk over and hug Sam, “it’s nice to see you, big guy.” It’s _not_ less awkward, but at least they stop arguing for the moment.

“You too, short stuff.” Sam might be younger than me, but his giant frame wrapped around mine has always been a welcome safety net. Dean looks less than pleased when I pull away, so I put some space between us as I gather the rest of my belongings.

“Sam, do you mind taking this out to the Impala? I assume you drove it over here.”

He looks at me in surprise, “Yea…but…are you coming with us?”

I shrug, “Something brought you to Omaha. Seems an awful shame we part ways again, at least until we find out what it is.” I wink as I toss my bag at him, and he grins.

“Sounds good. Meet you guys at the car.”

I wait until Sam is outside and the door is shut before I turn back to Dean. “About last night-”

Dean drops down on the bed and hangs his head, “Yea, probably wasn’t such a great idea.”

I kneel in front of him, “Look at me.” He does what I say, but is still careful about making eye contact. “Dean, please.”

He shifts his gaze to meet mine, and I don’t see smart ass, pool hustling, carefree Dean; I see a vulnerable man who has given and given, without ever asking for anything return, terrified that he’s going to be left behind again. I consider my next words carefully; I can’t tell him the truth, I can’t lead him on…but I also can’t tell him that last night didn’t mean anything. I’m almost surprised by the words that start flowing out of my mouth, like it has a life of its own and is ignoring any voice of reason I may have had.

“Last night was great. Despite everything that has happened with us, you…God, you’ve been the most important piece of this crazy ass puzzle.” I put my hand on his cheek and he leans into it. “But Sam is right. Now isn’t the time. We’ve been apart too long, and I’m not the same girl I was when I left.”

“Y/N-”

“Let me finish.” I brush a stray hair from his forehead and take a moment to consider how long it’s been since he last had a haircut. Not the time, but the man has approximately two hundred different ways to be distracting. “I want to go home with you guys. I want to get to know you again, I want to hunt. I need that, okay? I think we all need that. If you don’t think that’s something you can handle, if being that close all the time is too much…I need you to tell me. I’ll take my bag and I’ll go the opposite direction.” I lean my forehead against his, “But I need this…and I think you do, too.”

I’m an idiot. It briefly crosses my mind how hurt he will be in when this is said and done. But in my sudden lapse in judgement, and in a moment of total selfishness, I realize I don’t want to die alone.

He pulls back enough to search my eyes, to see if I mean what I’m saying, then slowly nods. “Come home.”

_Y/N…what the hell did you just do?  
_

* * *

**Now…**

The ride home is silent. I’m lying in the backseat, my eyes closed, and I can hear the quiet whispers of Dean explaining to Sam what’s going on. Sam falls into a shocked silence after Dean quits talking. I open my eyes when I feel the car slow to a stop and sit up, stretching carefully before stepping out of the car. Dean stays close, but doesn’t touch me. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s angry or if he’s afraid he’ll break me. I don’t know what kind of medicine they gave me, but the four days of sleep certainly helped out some. They both watch as I carefully descend the stairs, but they say nothing, just watch as I finally make it to the bottom. I excuse myself to my room; I can’t handle them staring at me. I can deal with them being angry, yelling, even throwing stuff…anything but silent staring.

I go to my room and look around at the small life I’ve built back up in the six months since I moved in. It’s not a lot, but it’s mine. I let myself wallow in the unfairness for a moment before gathering up clean clothes and shuffling to the shower room. It feels like Heaven once I finally get four days worth of hospital grime washed off. I feel mostly alive by the time I’m done, and as I towel dry my hair I think about what I want to do with whatever time I have left.

There’s not a lot. I help people every day, I pretty much do what I want within reason. My mind keeps drifting to Dean, but that’s not something I should even consider. It’s selfish and unfair to him. Unfortunately, it doesn’t keep me from thinking about it. I walk slowly back to my room, then sit on the bed without bothering to shut the door. I turn the television on and flip through my Netflix queue, only half paying attention to what options I have. A knock at my door distracts me, and I look up to see Dean standing in the doorway, my bag hooked over his shoulder.

“You left this.”

“Thanks.” I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, still unsure of what’s going through Dean’s head. He drops the bag on the floor next to my desk, then shuts the door behind him. The lock clicks, and then he’s crossing the space between the door and the bed. He sits down and watches me, his brows furrowed.

“I need to know why, Y/N. I need…” He runs a hand over his face, then looks back at me, his elbow on his knee and forehead resting in his palm. “I need you to tell me what you were thinking when you gave up.”

“I was alone.” Well, there it is. I just said it, no hesitation, no question.

Dean’s eyes widen, surprised at my answer, “What?”

My chest is tightening and for once I know it’s not the sickness raging inside me. This time it’s the fear and sadness and loneliness I have swallowed and ignored for the past year. “I…I was alone. Everyone was gone, and I just…I’m so tired, Dean. I’m tired of fighting.” The tears are coming now, deep, wracking sobs that take over my entire body. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, “I’m all alone.”

Dean shifts closer to me, wrapping his arms around me as he pulls me into his lap, “Shhh…” he whispers against my temple, “You aren’t alone, sweetheart. You aren’t alone.” He kisses my forehead, then moves down to my cheekbone, then finally my lips. It’s gentle, so soft I barely feel it. “You…” another kiss, “are not…” his hand grazes my side, and continues upward until it’s buried in my messy, damp hair, “alone.”

He lays me back on the bed, then covers my body with his as he deepens the kiss. His tongue traces my bottom lip, carefully testing how far I’m going to allow this to go. Any logic is gone. All there is is Dean. I take as deep a breath as I can manage and let his scent roll over me; a combination of mint toothpaste, and somehow, gunpowder even though he hasn’t hunted in days. It’s like it’s just become a part of him. I open to him and my tongue meets his as we gently explore each other.

He props himself up on one elbow so that his free hand can move from where it is currently occupied with my hair down to my chest. His large palm is hot through the thin fabric and I gasp when his thumb brushes against my nipple.

“Dean…” it comes out a whisper, and I’m not sure if it’s a question or a request.

“Do you trust me?” His eyes are wide, nervous, like I’m going to pull away any second.

“Yes.” He smiles and, not trying to be funny, I could die right now and be the happiest I’ve ever been.

His hand moves down to the hem of my shirt and slowly begins to pull it up. I arch my back so he can remove it easily, and he tosses it to the floor. He’s moving so slow it’s almost painful, but watching him is breathtaking. He bends down and his tongue traces the pebbled skin, and a hiss escapes me when his teeth graze and his fingers explore, and _God_ , nothing in this world will ever compare to this. I close my eyes and let the sensations take over.

He kisses his way to my other breast, licking and nipping, his stubble creating a delicious burn against my skin. If _this_ feels this good…

Suddenly he’s gone. I look up to see him standing next to the bed. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it, and I hear the thud of his boots as he kicks them off. His hands move down to his belt, and the buckle clinks as he undoes it, then shimmies his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement.

I know that we’ve done this once before, but this time is different. I’m dead sober, and I know we didn’t take our time back in Omaha. Dean’s movements are like a gift, and my eyes roam over his lightly tanned body as he moves closer to the bed again.

_Freckles._

He has way more freckles than I remember; spread across his shoulders, sprinkled along his chest and his arms in a light dusting. If you didn’t pay attention, you might not even notice. My gaze travels downward, taking in how his muscles move as he dips back down onto the bed, how smooth his skin is against my bare chest as he lays back over me.

“Not fair,” I whisper against his lips as he kisses me again.

He pulls back, his eyes glinting with amusement, “What isn’t fair?”

“You’re already naked.”

He chuckles, and he traces a finger from my breastbone down to where my shorts are clinging to my hip bone. There’s a flash of concern on his face and I know it’s because he can feel the difference between six months ago and now. There’s more bone than soft flesh, cancer will do that you, but the look is gone as quickly as it appeared. He smiles while his fingers slip under the band, “Someone is impatient.”

“I mean, have you _seen_ yourself?”

He laughs, and my heart swells at how genuine it sounds. “I could ask you the same question.” He slides down, hooking both thumbs under my waistband, and slips them off. “Which is exactly why I’m going to take my time.” He glides his hand over the cotton fabric still covering me and my whole body shivers. His lips ghost over the exposed skin above my underwear, then his breath is warm against my core. My hips buck and he pushes them back down, his fingers digging into me just hard enough that there will probably be bruises tomorrow. “Let me…” his teeth graze just over my clit, the fabric dulling the sharp shock of pleasure, “take…” another nip, this time accompanied by his fingers slipping between the cotton and my skin, “my time.”

Suddenly, he’s dragging his finger through my folds, slow and steady and it feels like the world just… _stops._ He’s taking his time alright, and it’s the exact opposite of the first time we did this. Before it was all hurried movements and fumbling fingers, cast off clothes and desperate groans. Now, all that can be heard is our heavy breathing, and he’s acting as if he’s never seen me before. Up and down he moves, his thumb grazing my sensitive bundle of nerves on every upsweep.

It’s like he’s memorizing every single movement; which ones make me sigh, which make me moan, what makes me squirm impatiently. “Dean…please…” I weave my fingers through his hair and gently nudge him in the direction I want him to go. Instead, he pushes my legs further apart and starts planting kisses along my thighs, alternating legs as he moves back up. He finally pulls the thin material down, dragging along my legs before slipping them off and tossing them on the floor.

His head drops and suddenly his tongue begins to replicate what his finger did; long, slow stripes up and down, focusing on my clit before moving back down. “Mmmm…” I can’t seem to form words, so that will have to do. Dean hums against me and the vibrations send another shockwave through me. I roll my hips, hoping for more but knowing that Dean does what Dean wants, and right now…I think he wants to torture me.

His tongue leaves its current path and I feel a different sensation as he slips a finger through my folds and deep inside me, slow and deliberate.

“You taste really good,” he mumbles against my thigh as he moves his finger in and out, twisting and curling it until he hits the perfect spot. He adds a second finger and I can’t help the strangled groan that slips out.

“Oh yea?” I’m surprised I can even speak. “What do I taste like?”

He pauses, then drags his tongue against me again and stops long enough to suck my clit into his mouth. He flicks his tongue against it one, two, three times, in time with his fingers, then suddenly he’s gone. “You taste like…you. I don’t know how to explain it. Flowers and strawberries…you just…you taste like _you_. Like home.”

He goes back to what he was doing, adding his tongue to the mix as he thrusts his fingers into me, slowly building up the pace. I can feel the slow burn, dim embers catching each nerve and spreading from my core outwards. With each thrust, each swipe of his tongue, I’m getting closer and closer to the edge. “Dean…” it’s more of a whimper than actual words, but he apparently catches the meaning and speeds up, and changes the direction he’s going with his tongue. Instead of up and down, he moves up to my clit and begins circling it, changing direction every few beats.

_And I’m done for._

I can’t even warn him, it happens so fast. I fall over the edge, and an unintelligible string of obscenities pour out of me as stars dance behind my eyelids. My hips are moving of their own accord and the only thing I’m sure of is that Dean is holding on, pulling me through in a wave of pleasure so intense, I’m not even sure I’m still on the same plane of existence. I hear him chuckle, then feel the bed dip next to me as he pulls himself up beside me.

I roll over to face him, and he smiles, “I take it that was good?”

I laugh, “You could say that.” He leans in and kisses my neck, nuzzling against me as he goes and I sigh happily. “What about you, though?”

“What about me?” He mumbles against me, his forehead resting on my shoulder. I shift enough that I can feel his hardness against me, and he lets out a little hiss as I brush my hand against him.

“Wanna ask that again?” He looks up at me, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He looks hesitant, and I nudge him, “What?”

“This is supposed to be about you, Y/N, not me. I’m afraid…I don’t want to hurt you.” He looks down as if he’s embarrassed, like he didn’t expect me to want more out of it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me.” He still won’t look at me, so I tuck my finger under his chin and lift up so that his eyes meet mine. “I want this, Dean. I trust you. You won’t hurt me.” He stares at me for a moment, and I can tell he’s not sure if he believes me. I cradle his cheek against my palm, “I want _you_.”

Without a word, he rolls us both over so that I’m on my back. My breath catches as I look at him; he’s gorgeous, all muscle and tan skin and strong features…but he’s more than that. God, he’s so much more. I can remember where each of his scars came from, at least most of them…there are some new ones from when I was gone. They tell a story, just like his rough hands and the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s thinking.

He’s perfect without being perfect, pieced back into something stronger every time he’s been broken, and he’s strong enough to carry us all despite that often being the reason he’s given so much to start with. I can see the world in his eyes as he lowers himself down and suddenly I feel full, a coursing heat that spreads from my belly to the tips of my toes.

He lets me adjust to him, his eyes locked with mine as he searches them for permission. I nod and he begins to move, slow, languid strokes that drag against my walls with a delicious burn. There’s not much light, but it’s enough that I can see the muscles in his arms stand out as he holds himself up, his stomach muscles rippling with each movement. I drag my fingernails along his chest, then move around so that my palms rest on his shoulder blades. I close my eyes and focus on the way his body feels under my hands, against my skin, how it moves, how warm it is. How _alive_ he feels. I’ve always hated when people say they ‘made love’, but in this moment…I get it. This isn’t about sex, about fucking away our feelings or trying to unwind after a difficult hunt. It’s the only way any of us that grew up in this life knows how to say it…we show it.

His pace is steady, but I think he realizes I’m not going to break and he speeds up slightly.

“You feel amazing,” he lowers himself and kisses me again, biting at my bottom lip. I pull him closer, moaning into him as he shifts and hits another perfect angle. It feels like we are on fire, and I watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his temple and follow it down to where it catches in the dip at his collarbone.

“So do you.” I move my hands from his shoulders down to his hips and urge him to go faster, desperate for a little more.  I can tell he’s still holding back, and decide maybe it’s time to take charge. I manage to turn enough that I get him to roll over, though the sudden emptiness I feel as he pulls out makes me almost regret the decision.

“What are you doing?” He asks as he reaches up and rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Mmm…well, it’s _your_ turn. So let me…” I stroke him, though at this point he really doesn’t need any help, “take…” I rest a knee on either side of him and line myself up, barely grazing him against my entrance. He groans, jerking his hips up to meet me. I push him down with my hands, sliding along his length rather than down onto him, “my time.”

“Y/N…c’mon…” he bites his lip as he looks at me, his hands on my hips. He keeps still though, his hooded eyes dark with lust, and I realize just how much I love Dean Winchester. I’ve always been drawn to him; he comforted me when my parents died, he took care of Sam and I when Bobby was busy and John was gone. He dried my tears when I had a rough day at school. But now, looking down at him, I realize more than ever that I don’t just care about him. I love him more than anything on this earth. Too bad it took dying to realize it.

I line him up again and slowly sink down, closing my eyes as I shimmy down his length. It takes a second to adjust again, and I gently rock to give myself a little friction.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

I open my eyes and smile sleepily, “Oh?”

He nods, and drags his hands up my thighs. His hands are rough and calloused, but also gentle. It’s always impressed me how gentle he could be. He digs his fingers into my thighs and moves his hips, grinding against me impatiently. Instead of making him wait, I begin to move up and down, slow like he had done before, and put my hands over his. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. You always have been, and you never even realized it. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

I roll my hips and his head tilts back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back a moan, “I think I might.”

Instead of answering, he moves his hand and begins running his thumb over my clit. I start to move faster and harder; all I want is to feel him as much as I can.

Suddenly, Dean sits up, shifting me so that I’m in his lap. One hand tangles in my hair and pulls my head back, giving him access to my neck. The other hand stays on my hip, guiding me up and down as he kisses down my neck and across my collarbone.

“Dean…” I whisper his name like a prayer, and he wraps his arms around my back. I can feel it, that slow build up right before the precipice. “I love you.”

He holds me tighter, and one hand moves to my hair again. He’s practically cradling me against his chest as he thrusts upward, a desperate grip that gives me the answer I was looking for. He can’t say it, I know he can’t. I know what he’s lost and what he’s about to lose, but I can’t leave this world without him knowing.

“I’m…I’m gonna…” I can’t finish my thought, the sensations are too much and I drop my head against Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you.”

Suddenly it’s like the world explodes into color, a kaleidoscope of pleasure and love and everything in between. Somewhere in the midst of my mind shattering orgasm, I feel Dean’s hips stutter as he loses rhythm.

“Oh fuck…Y/N…” he grunts softly into my hair before carefully toppling over onto the bed, gently shifting me next to him before laying down. He pulls me into his side and kisses the top of my head, and I soak in his warmth. He smooths my sweat soaked hair from my forehead and I sigh happily as I close my eyes.

We lay in silence, and just as I’m dozing off, I hear Dean’s whispered response.

_“Me too, kid. Me too.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present day, Y/N wakes up to an empty bed and goes in search of Dean, and she has to decide how she’s going to handle her fate. Her decision might be just as deadly as her disease.

I wake up slowly and snuggle into the blanket that magically appeared while I was sleeping. It’s warm, and I smile into my pillow as the memory of what just transpired flits through my mind. I roll over, but instead of rolling into a solid wall of muscle, I find an empty space; Dean has disappeared.

“Hmmm,” I whine sleepily as I sit up and let my legs dangle over the edge. The first thing I find is his shirt, so I pull that on and smile as his scent washes over me. Assuming he went to the kitchen because he was as thirsty as I am now, I leave my room and head down the hall. I hear Dean’s voice as I get closer, and I slow down.   _Is he talking to someone?_

I stop in the doorway, hidden by shadows as I peer around the corner and into the mostly dark kitchen. Dean is sitting at the table, his back toward me, and I take a moment to appreciate his silhouette before I realize no one is sitting with him; he’s all alone, elbows on the table, and his bowed head resting on his interlaced fingers.

“Cas, where are you, buddy? Kinda need you down here, it’s important.” He pauses, and I see him move slightly; if I know Dean well enough, his brows are furrowed as he waits for an answer, and when _that_ happens, he gets antsy. I see his shoulders shift as he takes a deep breath. 

“Listen, I uh…I know I ask a lot of you, man. I get that, and I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important…but I need your help. _Y/N_ needs your help. She’s sick, and there’s not…there’s not a lot of time, Cas.” His voice is tight and his head drops lower. I shouldn’t be listening, but I’m rooted to the spot, my heart racing. “I just got her back. I…I can’t lose her again. She’s the one thing that makes this shitty hand worth playing, and I can’t watch her die. I just…I can’t. She deserves more than that, she deserves her happy ending.” He looks up, and I back further into the shadows as tears roll down my cheeks. _What have I done?_ “So if you could please just come home…save her, huh?” I can’t listen anymore. I quietly slip out of the doorway and back to my room.

I shut the door and lean back against it, my eyes closed and the sound of Dean’s desperate plea echoing in my mind.

_I can’t stay._

I can’t let Dean watch me die. Disappearing will be bad enough, it will most likely break him down for a long time, but he’ll get over it. But watching me die? He’ll never be able to get that image out of his mind. What I want is for him to remember tonight, to remember how I looked and felt and how much I loved him. I can’t let him watch me deteriorate, I don’t want his last memory of me to be one where I can’t remember my own name, much less his. And that’s what will happen, isn’t it? Because this cancer is on a rampage and it’s spreading. I know what the next step is; the only direction for it to go is out. It’s going to eat me alive.

I grab my bag that he had brought to me earlier, dump out the dirty clothes and shove fresh ones in, not bothering to fold anything. Most of my toiletries are there, and my wallet is still stuffed with cash from the last time I hustled some poor drunk bastard at the bar. There’s no way I can get a car out of the garage without either of them hearing it, but if luck is with me, I can at least sneak out the front door. I go to leave, but pause at the door; I can’t not leave anything for him to find. He deserves at least that much. I grab a pen and notepad from my desk and jot down an abbreviated version of my thoughts (I would need an entire book for everything I’m feeling) and lay it on the end of my bed. I doubt he’ll listen to me, but at least I tried.

I sneak down the hall and past Sam’s door. It’s shut, but there’s a light on, and I listen for any movement. Nothing. I keep going and finally make it to the war room. The only obstacle now is to make it up the stairs and out the door. I’m not sure where my strength has come from, I’m exhausted from the sickness and from being with Dean, but I manage to make it upstairs without making a sound. I stare at the door for a moment, then turn and look down into the bunker. The table’s dull glow slightly illuminates everything, and I already miss it. It’s become my home, and I don’t look forward to roaming again. At least it won’t be for very long.

The door opens with a muted squeal and I cringe, waiting for one of them to pop out and catch me. No one does, so I slip outside and shut it as quietly as I can behind me. The air is cool for summer time; I can feel fall coming in the breeze. I start walking and picture what it looks like when the leaves start to change. There isn’t much, not like where I’m from, but I think it will be beautiful. Even the leafless trees have a dark beauty about them, their bare skeletons stark against the sky. I’ve only seen pictures, I haven’t been around long enough this time to have really seen it happen, but I know it’s going to be gorgeous.

The walk into town isn’t bad. I’m moving slow, so much so that I fully expect Dean to have jumped in the Impala and hunted me down, but when I reach the truck stop and decide to take a rest, the familiar roar of the muscle car is absent. A part of me is disappointed, but most of me is glad I haven’t been caught. The door jingles as I open it, and the woman at the counter looks up at me and cracks her gum. I smile at her and wander to an empty booth by the window. Gum cracker walks over and holds out an order pad.

“Whatcha want, darlin’?”

“Mmm…I’ll have a cup of coffee, black, and a piece of apple pie, please.”

“Sure thing.” She walks away and I look outside, still expecting Dean to pull into the lot. When the coffee and pie come and he’s still not here, I’m beginning to think maybe he figures it’s for the best. It hurts, but it’s what I want…right? I’m not very good at lying to myself. I pick up my coffee and hold it tightly in both hands, trying to get some warmth back into them, and close my eyes as the bitter aroma hits my nostrils.

Even with my eyes shut, something feels… _wrong_. I feel a slight breeze as someone walks past me and I open my eyes to see a tall, bearded man wearing a trucker hat, flannel, and a hunter green vest walk to the door and turn the lock. The sound is deafening in the silence, and I slowly look around the room. Including the waitress, there are five people scattered around the diner, one of which is still blocking the door. The waitress looks at me and smiles, her eyes flashing black as she snaps her gum again.

_Shit._

I have nowhere to run, no weapons in easy reach, and honestly, the fight in me is gone. I take a sip of my coffee, relishing its warmth as it slides down my throat, then grab the fork and cut off a large piece. The sweet treat slips past my lips and nearly dances along my tongue; demon or not, this is some damn delicious pie.

“What the hell do you want?” I say it calmly, as if being surrounded by demons was how I spent every evening. In reality, it’s taking everything I have to keep from visibly shaking. I mean, I get that I’m going to die, but this is _not_ my ideal situation.

“Oh, darlin’, we already got what we wanted. Dean Winchester’s little bitch, practically gift wrapped.”

_How do they know who I am?_

“I’m not anybody’s bitch,” I grind out as I stand, “though I _am_ a bitch.” I take inventory of what I have, and it’s not enough. It’s not _anything_. The most I have is holy water, and it’s in my bag. “And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” I hear footsteps behind me and turn so that my back is facing the booth. One of the demons has gotten up and closed off the exit that had been behind me when I was sitting.

“Do you really need an introduction? Any demon would want to get their hands on the Winchesters.”

“Well,” I glance down at her name tag, “Margaret, I’m not a Winchester, and you know what? I don’t really want to be, it’s more fucking trouble than it’s worth. So it looks like you’re wasting your time.”

“Is that why he spent days at your side when you were in the hospital? Because _that_ seems like somethin’ that you… _humans_ …do when you care about someone.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” _How the hell do they know about that?_

Suddenly a hand clamps down on my arm and I hiss at the contact. I look up to see the one blocking my exit has crossed the space in a matter of seconds, and he’s _big_. He gives Sam a run for his money.

“Honey, it doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t ask him to do, he cares about ya. Which means when he gets a phone call askin’ him to come get you, that you’re sorry you left, he’s gonna come runnin’. They always do.” Margaret walks over and traces her hand along my collarbone, “He can’t help himself. Always the hero. And judgin’ by this little love bite, you’re a favorite.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Her hand connects with my face with a resounding crack and my head snaps to the side. Things start to get a little dark and I slump against the guy holding me. Not exactly the greatest show of strength. She scoffs, “Not as tough as you think, huh?” She nods towards the kitchen, “Take her out back, so no one sees her. I’ll meet you at the house in a few minutes. Try to keep her in one piece, huh?”

Giant dude nods, then picks me up and throws me over his shoulder like a rag doll. I don’t have the energy to fight him, and despite not being tied up yet, just let it happen. There’s too many demons, at least here, but then I realize that wherever we are going is probably going to be worse.

We get outside and he flings open the back hatch of an SUV that’s parked just outside the door. He dumps me inside and I groan as my head hits the floor hard enough that I see stars. There’s a prick of pain in my neck and I jerk away from it, kicking weakly as he laughs at me. “You’re an asshole,” I mutter into the floor, my eyes slipping shut as whatever he injected me with starts to take over.

I can feel him roughly tying my arms together behind my back, “Well, you’re a dead girl walking. Might be an asshole, but at least I’ll still be around when this is over.”

I laugh weakly, “You have no idea how right _and_ wrong you are.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But I can’t answer…not that I want to anyway. My eyelids are so heavy, and all I can see is Dean smiling at me.

_It’ll be okay.  
_

* * *

I jerk awake, squinting as I try to adjust to the light. My arms and legs are tied tightly to the chair I’m sitting in and all I can see are bare walls and half rotting furniture scattered around, ghosts of someone else’s life. I can hear voices in the other room, just out of sight.

_“Do you really think she’ll give them up? I mean, she did say they were a pain in the ass.”_

_“You’re an idiot, of course that’s what she said! She’s not gonna want to give them up. How long have we been followin’ them around? She’s been up their ass since she showed up six months ago, especially Dean. Did you get her phone?”_

I look down and groan when I realize my pocket is empty. Of course they took my phone, not that it is going to do me much good anyway.

 _“Yea, it’s right here.”_ It starts ringing and I can tell by the ringtone that it’s Dean. “ _Oh shit, Winchester is calling. What do we do?_ ” The phone keeps ringing and Margaret from the diner leans around the doorway and looks at me.

“Let it go to voicemail.” They both walk into the room, the big guy from earlier holding my phone as Margaret stops in front of me and kneels down. “Do you wanna talk to Dean? I can make you a little deal.”

“I already told you, _I don’t care_. Why do you think I left in the first place? It’s because of shit like this. So thanks, but no thanks. You can go straight to hell.” She stares at me, then smacks me across the face.

“You’re lying.” She jerks her chin and the other guy walks around behind me just as my phone starts to ring again. “I guess you won’t care if I answer this, then.”

I grind my teeth, jerking at the rope on my wrists. “It doesn’t matter to me,” I spit out, knowing that it’s not nearly as convincing as I hope, “he’s probably just calling to yell at me some more. You know how the Winchesters are, always have to be right.”

She slides her thumb across the screen to answer, her eyes locked with mine, and taps the speaker button.

_“Y/N! Finally, where the hell are you?”_

“Dean!” My eyes widen at how close her voice is to mine.

_“Why did you leave? I came back to your room and you were gone…and that note…you know that’s not how this works. You don’t just give up.”_

Margaret looks at me and raises a brow. So much for not wanting Dean around. “I just…I needed time to think, some fresh air. I’m sorry…can you please come get me?”

_“Yea…sure. Where are you?”_

“Dean!” I try to interrupt, but the guy behind me jabs me in the neck again and I begin to feel the affects almost immediately. Everything is fuzzy, like I’m looking through cellophane.

_“What was that?_

“What was what? Oh, no, it’s nothing. Someone outside yelling. Here’s the address. See you soon?”

_“Yea, see you soon. Just…stay there.”_

“I will.” She hangs up and looks at me, and even with blurred vision I can tell she’s gloating. “When Dean shows up at the gas station, he’s gonna be mighty surprised to find it isn’t you after all.” She puts her hand on my knee and I try to jerk it away, but she squeezes so tight it hurts. “Or maybe I could take you for a ride…killing him using _you_ would be a helluva thing.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“So I’ve been told.” She pats me roughly on the cheek and stands up. “Make sure she won’t be able to break those ropes and then head outside to keep watch.” My chin drops to my chest and I can feel the ropes moving roughly against my wrists, the fibers rubbing against the already sore flesh and I groan. He tugs one more time, there is a shuffling sound, and then his footsteps retreat towards the door they had originally entered. I try to pull against the rope, but I can’t tell if my arms are even moving, everything is too numb.

_What the hell am I supposed to do?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N, Dean, and Sam find themselves in an impossible situation, and Y/N remembers a conversation that might just save them.

It’s funny what comes to mind when you know you’re  getting ready to die. There’s this nudge, almost a tickle of a memory, and I can _almost_ grab it. It’s right there, a shadow of something important that I need to remember. I’ve almost got it when I feel someone shake my shoulder.

I want to ignore it, because whatever this is, it’s important, like _live saving important_ , but the shake comes again, this time with a familiar, rumbling voice, and whatever it is that I’m trying to remember slips out of my grasp.

“C’mon, just…let me sleep, huh?” I mumble, moving my head away from whoever is touching me.

“Y/N, you gotta wake up.” It’s Dean, and I feel his palm against my cheek. “Please, we have to get out of here.”

I open my eyes slowly, the drugs still dulling my senses, “Why…how’d you get here? She sent you to a gas station…” I shake my head and his hand moves to my neck as he takes in my bruised face.

“I can tell when something is up. You’d never ask me to come get you like that, even if you _were_ wrong to leave.”

“It’s a trap, there are at least five of them…how’d you find me?” Nothing is making sense, and I’m beginning to think it’s not really Dean; someone is impersonating him as a cruel joke on a dying girl.

“Sam tracked your phone.” He moves around and starts working on the knotted ropes, “Dumbass outside still had it turned on, so we followed it straight here.” My arms fall free but I don’t have the energy to do much more than let them dangle. He moves around to my ankles, “What happened? Why did you leave?”

“I…I don’t know,” I sigh, “I heard you praying. Cas isn’t coming, and I just…I couldn’t let you watch me waste away. Cancer is hateful, Dean. It’ll take over everything until there’s nothing left. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He looks up at me, his eyes shining, “That’s not your decision to make. I would rather be by your side until the end than to lose what little time we have left-” 

“How touching.” Margaret’s southern drawl interrupts, “I wish I had more time to watch this little show, but there is revenge to be had.” I look up to see her in the doorway, her eyes narrowed as she stares at us. She jerks her chin and Dean is flung across the room and into the wall. He hits the floor with a strangled grunt then struggles to his knees.

“You’ve got to have more fight in you than that. Are you gonna fight for your girl or not?”

“Listen, bitch-” he’s cut off by a flick of her wrist, choking as she forces him against the wall.

“I don’t think I will.” She whistles, and a different giant guy walks in with Sam shoved in front of him, his arms tied. “Because see, we caught your little surprise. I’m a demon, not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” I mumble, and almost instantly she’s standing in front of me. She smacks me hard across the face and my body goes one direction while the chair flies in the other.  I hit the ground and immediately begin gasping for air.

“Wanna say that again?” I can’t answer, the only sound I can make is a wet gargle from the blood flooding my mouth. I spit and even she gasps at the sight. “What’s wrong with you? I barely touched you.” She looks at Dean, “What’s wrong with her?” He narrows his eyes at her, and she tightens the grip around his throat. “It doesn’t matter, because I’ve got her and Sammy boy to torture you with. God, I have been waitin’ for this. We _all_ have been waitin’ for this.”

As if waiting on a signal, at least a dozen demons appear from various doorways and adjacent rooms, and both Sam and Dean’s eyes widen in alarm. A dozen is too many, even on a good day. I can feel their fear, and like some sort of key, it unlocks the memory I have been struggling to grab on to.

_“Cas, what is this?” He walks over to where I’m sitting in the library, cataloging old books I found in the bunker’s dungeon. They were hidden away, locked in an old chest, but if I am anything like the boys I grew up with or the man I eventually came to know as my father, my curiosity and need to know overpowers any lock, rusty though it may be._

_The book I am referring to is ancient, and though Cas is teaching me Enochian, it’s far beyond what I know. Even he has to squint at it for a moment as he tries to decipher it._

_“It appears to be a protection sigil.”_

_I tilt my head as I look at it, “I’ve never seen a protection symbol that looks like that. What’s it for?”_

_Cas runs his hand over it, tracing the beautiful lines as he stares at it, “It is not like the protection sigils we use normally. This is far more violent towards the caster. It is essentially used in the most desperate of situations. If one were to carve this onto their person and activate it using their own blood, it would destroy any threat within a hundred yard radius.”_

_I raise a brow, “How does it know what to destroy and what to keep safe?”_

_“The love of the caster would protect them…at a cost.”_

_“What kind of cost?” Cas looks at me and I know before he responds what the answer is. “Their life, right?”_

_He nods, “Yes, unfortunately that is true.” He closes the book and places it back into the trunk. “I think that book goes in the restricted section.”_

_I laugh, “Was that a Harry Potter reference?”_

_He frowns, “I do not understand what you mean…”_

The memory fades away, the only thing remaining the stark outline of the sigil, burned into my memory.

_Oh, this is gonna suck._

I reach down to my boot, praying that they had forgotten to check everywhere, and that none of them notice me moving around. For a second, my hope is gone. Then my fingers brush the smooth, worn bone handle and I sigh in relief, slipping it from the hidden sheath.

The next few seconds feel like hours. All I can feel is a stinging pain, like my stomach is on fire as I cut into myself. It isn’t deep, but I struggle to keep going, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I force myself to continue. That’s the thing about dying; if you know it’s going to happen anyway, doing one last mostly unselfish act is worth it.

I focus on what I’m saving. Memories flood my mind as I try to distract myself; Dean doctoring my scrapes the time I was jumping from car to car in the junkyard and slipped off the hood of a rusted out Ford, helping Sam with his homework whenever Dean and John were gone and we were left to our own devices at Bobby’s, Dean dressing up and taking me out to a giant field full of lightning bugs when my prom date ditched me, and turning up the music in the Impala so we’d have something to dance to. That’s one of my favorite memories, because it’s  also the night Dean and I first kissed. Hell, the first time I kissed _anyone_. It was a sweet, innocent moment, just Dean wanting me to have a nice night after some asshole tried to ruin it, but thinking back I think that’s the moment that I began to look at Dean differently. Late nights in libraries with Sam while we researched, the first time I ever saw the bunker….last night. Of course, I save the best memory for last.

As I make the last, painful swipe, I close my eyes and think of him, how warm he is, how he’s all rough edges and soft skin, green eyes that shift from a bright, almost emerald to a moss depending on the light and what he’s wearing. How he smells like gunpowder and whiskey and mint toothpaste. I connect the last line and release a shaky breath. Now for the hard part.

I shift onto my knees and spit again, the blood a bright, ruby red against the dirty floor. I take as deep a breath as I can manage and force myself to stand, stumbling slightly as I get to my feet. For a second, everything is doubled and I blink a couple of times to try to clear my vision. I look towards Dean and he’s shaking his head, his eyes on the knife in my hand. He doesn’t know what I’m going to do, he isn’t aware of the conversation I had with Cas, but I think he knows this can’t end well regardless of what I’m getting ready to do. I swipe my arm across my chin in an attempt to wipe away the blood now freely dripping from my mouth and Margaret turns around to look at me. Several of the demons step forward as if they’re going to stop me and she holds up a hand.

“Nah, I wanna see what she thinks she’s gonna do.” She smirks, but I see it falter when she sees that my shirt is also bloody. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

I grip the knife tighter and ignore her, moving my gaze over her shoulder to where Sam and Dean are. I lock eyes with Sam first, and he frowns, his eyes wide.

“Y/N…”

“It’s okay…everything’s going to be alright. I love you, big guy.”

“Love you too, short stuff,” he chokes out as a giant tear rolls down his cheek. I’m not sure which is worse, the tear, or the fact that he actually says _I love you_ back to me.

I shift my gaze to Dean and smile, “Cas is gonna save us after all.”

His eyes widen as I lift my shirt up to reveal the sigil, “Y/N, what…what is that? What are you doing?”

I drag the knife along my palm, then let it fall from my hand. It hits the floor with a clatter, and Dean cringes, though he keeps his eyes locked with my mine. “It’s okay…I’m not alone, Dean. I never was.”

“No!” I’ve never heard so much pain in a single syllable, and for a split second, I reconsider my plan. But I know better; it’s either I die and the Winchesters live, or we all die. I close my eyes and press my palm to the sigil. A white hot wave of energy courses through me and before everything goes totally white, I see the demons writhing in pain, light shooting from their eyes and mouths, a lot like when Cas smites someone.

_It’s finally over.  
_

* * *

_Dean,_

_I’m sorry I just left, but it’s the best way for this to end. You have seen so much, have had so much taken away…I can’t make you watch this, too. Don’t be angry at Cas for not answering; he’s got his own battles, and honestly, I’m ready for mine to be over._

_Finding my way back to you was the best thing that’s happened to me in the past year. I was so scared and alone and angry, but then you came along and made it bearable. I wish I could have been more honest with you about being sick…but you guys made me forget. It was nice not to be sick and dying, at least for awhile._

_I love you, Dean. I know it’s hard for you to say it, but I know. You show me every day. You are patient and funny and kind…even when I don’t deserve it. You have so much love in you, please don’t let this take it away. The world deserves to know your heart, and you deserve to be happy._

_Anyway, by the time you see this, I’ll be gone. Remember what tonight was like, okay? That’s how I want you to remember me. That’s the kind of love I want you to fight for._

_Love you, Deano._

_Y/N_


End file.
